On Remembering We Are Dust

As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. – Psalm 103:13-14

Three months ago, the summer stretched in front of me, weeks and weeks with no fixed schedule where I could devote myself to everything I wanted to get done. I planned to learn German read both fiction and nonfiction, whip my mom’s garden into shape, reconnect with old friends, write a large part of a novel, compose several blog, practice my flute regularly and shop for a house. I wish I was exaggerating. Classes start tomorrow, and not all of that got done. Not even close. My summer is just like life in general: so much to do, so little time.

If someone walked up to you and said, “You are dust,” you’d probably be very confused and a little offended. If they explained that in the Bible, comparing people to dust is a way of emphasizing mortality, you’d be less confused, but probably still offended. Our culture does everything it can to forget about death. We encourage our kids to reach for the stars and promise that if they work hard they can be anything they want to be. We spend hours exercising and go on all kinds of diets so that we look young and attractive. Even our meat comes in pristine shrink-wrapped packages with all the icky organs removed, so it doesn’t remind us of the animals it came from.

It’s tempting to think that reminding people of their mortality – or any limit – is unkind. People want to be encouraged, to have people build up their self-esteem. But actually, recognizing our limitations is far kinder than denying them.

Psalm 103 associates God’s compassion for humanity with His remembering that they are dust. Often, we are least compassionate when we forget human limits. It’s easy to get impatient when you think someone should be able to do something for you, but they don’t. And if you’re in a position of authority, expecting people to do more than they’re capable of can make their lives miserable. New professors, for example, are infamous for giving unreasonable amounts of work because they don’t know what students can handle.

The same goes for my attitude toward myself. Too often, I forget that I am dust. When I think about everything I tried and failed to do this summer, frustration and discouragement threaten to overwhelm me. There are so many good things to do, and one lifetime is far too short to get them done. But I don’t have to do everything. I am dust, and creatures of dust need time to rest. And God knows I am dust. He will not be disappointed that I can’t do everything. He knows my weakness and has compassion. Paradoxically, God extends compassion and mercy precisely because He knows we are dust. He loves us not because we can do so much but because we need His love so desperately.

Friend, when (not if) people fall short of your expectations, remember that they are dust. And when (not if) you disappoint yourself, remember that you are dust. And rejoice that God also remembers we are dust, forgives our sins and comforts us in our weaknesses.

Eternal Love: A Poem for my Grandmother

A little over a week ago, my beloved grandmother Kathleen Elsner passed away. I wrote this poem in memory of her. It is a hymn, but it is infused with her influence. It reflects my memories of watching the cardinals in her backyard and her love of tea and my assurance that in Christ, she is now in glory, and I remain connected to her.

Eternal Love

O Father God, You are Eternal Love.

Your love is manifest in all we see:

A flash of scarlet wings against white snow,

A flower bed, a smile, a cup of tea

Sweet daily blessings printed with Your name

But sweeter still the love that makes them shine,

Infusing every memory we share

With precious glimmers of Your love divine.

O Son of God to human parents born

You shared our joys and felt our pain and grief.

You bled and died for sins of those You love.

By death, from death You brought us our relief

And rising, You have conquered every wrong.

Relationships we broke You have restored,

Temporal image of Eternal Love,

We thank and praise you, Savior and our Lord.

O Holy Spirit, Comforter and Strength,

You breathe, and sin-crushed spirits come alive

You make our lives reflect the risen Christ,

You lift us to the goal toward which we strive.

You bind in unity all those You touch,

Through space and time and into heav’n above,

Where those who’ve gone before wait till we join

Their perfect union with Eternal Love.

Lost in Light: A Tribute to My Grandmother

Three years ago today, my grandmother Adele Sunshine passed away. She was an amazing woman. There are many people more qualified than I who could tell you about all she did. I know that she taught special education in inner city schools, had six children with an incredible number of advanced degrees between them, traveled the world, collected jigsaw puzzles and cared for a magnificent 3-story Victorian house until she was well into her 80s. Unfortunately, she moved to Tennessee just as I was becoming old enough to appreciate what an incredible person she was, and I visited her only once every year or two after that point. I love her so much, and I wish I had known her better.

Anyway, I wrote this poem around the time of her death but only now have worked up the courage to share it.

Lost in Light

I watch the embers of your heart

that glistened, glowed all these long years

grow dim.  I see the creeping night

and feel the swelling weight of tears.

I see resplendent fireworks

that flashed against a velvet sky

fade into brittle golden dust,

doomed to disintegrate and die.

I see an end to all I knew of you,

love’s promised heights unreached,

a book slammed shut before the end,

then burned to ash, no more to teach.

Your path winds upward into mist

that veils your destination’s peak,

as from my eyes you quickly fade,

too distant now to see or speak.

My eyes must close to see the truth

that though the path you tread is steep,

you now can soar on borrowed wings

to Him who made the lame to leap.

A star dissolving in the dawn,

you fade away from earthly sight,

but eyes of faith can look beyond,

to see you laughing, lost in light.